My Corona

So, they broke out the antibacterial hand sanitizer at work this week and my major reaction was “Oh, I know this drill!” It was almost like a little piece of nostalgia, wiping my hands down until they were red and peeled every time I moved from one place to another. It’s what we did at the hospital and at the clinic and at the hospice and pretty much everywhere else we had to take him for treatments through the years. Honestly, I was a little thrown off when I didn’t then have to subsequently put on a medical gown (they never made us wear face masks that much, so that’s unknown territory for us).

I guess I’m going to have to get used to it, because I don’t think this coronavirus scare is going anywhere any time soon.

And it’s a tough one for me. I haven’t blogged about it, but I’ve been thinking this since January since we’ve pretty much had nothing but a steady drumbeat of coronavirus stories since the start of the year. Because the shocking this is: I just don’t care.

And that’s oversimplifying things. I don’t want my wife or children to die. I don’t want to die either, particularly not horribly. But, at the same time, all I can think is that, if the coronavirus is gunning for me and it gets me … I get to see Colin sooner. And if my belief system is a joke and there is no afterlife where I see my loved ones, then I get to stop living this life without him, which isn’t much, but it seems to be one of the few consolation prizes out there for me.

Don’t worry. I’m not about to jump into a vat of corona (either the virus or the beer). I’m practicing safe cough etiquette and washing my hands obsessively. But can I work up a real fear of this virus? On many levels, no. And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.